


A Father's Son

by Ally_Futuras



Series: Malik's Sanction [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 07:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17219495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ally_Futuras/pseuds/Ally_Futuras
Summary: Tazim strived to make his father proud, to live up to his legacy. A desperate attempt of a heart broken son who just wishes for his father to return.





	A Father's Son

 

 

 

 

_"I'm proud of you, my boy."_

Those were the words Tazim would never tire of. He'd be blessed if he ever did get to hear them.

The young man lost his father when he was but a child. An infant. Tazim knew very little of the man beside the few stories he was so rarely given as a boy, the image he drew within his mind of his father would be cherished. Looked after very closely. Malik was strong, ruthless, Tazim imagined, yet kind hearted to only those dearest to him. His brother in arms, nephews in all but blood, his lover, and his son. 

The young assassin found himself wandering in his room with very little to do. For the past few minutes he relaxed, sitting at his desk and reading through a book. Seeming to be busy. Too busy.

"Tazim." He heard from his door.

The voice was faint. A strangers' voice yet familiar all the same, full of warmth and the slightest bit of amusement.

Looking away from his book, a few stray hairs falling in front of his eyes, the young man turned in his chair. He saw his father by the door. Just as he had always imagined.

It couldn't be.

But it was. Malik stood, a tired and calm face yet he held his chin up with pride.

Tazim could only verify the mindful image he created of his father as a younger boy now that his fathers living embodiment stood before him. The blackest, thickest of hair Tazim had imagined became scattered with gray and white strands. Tazim noted his jaw, the structure of his nose, all like his own. But what stood out the most were his fathers' eyes, almost as if taking a peek into the future, Tazim saw himself. Or perhaps only a mirror of his fathers image which he could only hope to have become in both physical form and legacy. Malik's eyes were alert, as they should be but were tired, not as lively as they once were before.

_Eye's radiating with the passion of his younger years. Filled with pain, wisdom and strength, Tazim._

"Father," he said in a mere whisper.

Malik nodded his head towards his sons book, "If you are busy, I'm sure this can wait."

The younger man shook his head quickly. He shot straight up, making his chair almost topple over with the sudden movement and closed his book.

"No," he spoke out rather harshly, then clearing his throat in fear of his voice revealing how bewildered he truly was, "I'm never to busy for my family."

Tazim walked over to his father after wiping his hand of imaginary dirt. Running a hand through his sloppy hair, he took long strides as his robes swayed with him.

He stopped only once he was right in front of his father. Tazim's mouth was slightly parted, he took in a short breath before pursing his lips. 

Malik, tilted his head,giving him a strange look as he held up a brow. Was his son going crazy? Had something bothered him? The younger man was acting far too strange and jittery than he would have approved.

Tazim felt his eyes grow watery at the sight of his father but looked away and cleared his throat. Malik's presence before him was enough to ignite the fire in his chest, the desire of having his father in his life. The tears that tried to seep out eventually disappeared at the young man's force. Tazim would not let his father see him cry. He must take control of his emotions. He would not seem week before his father.

After composing himself, Tazim held his chin high, turning his head, and looked to his father once more.

Malik was a just a half inch shorter than his boy. The other man also looked slightly taller because of his untidy hair, he'd need to cut it, and soon. Perhaps Tazim could ask one of the wives when they weren't too busy.

"What do you need help with?" Tazim finally asked.

Malik scoffed. "Help? What makes you think I need help? You are the one who needs help." His father told him with a wave of his hand.

Tazim sighed and chuckled, "Fine, what is it that you need?"

Just like the rare stories of his youth, Malik was much too prideful. His father wouldn't want anyone's help anymore. He said that even in his old age, even with his one good arm, he was still capable of many things. Fighting, Tazim imagined, may not be an easy feat as it once had been but Malik's quick tongue could strike with just as much precision and force.

_He refused help simply because he was handicapped, proving to be twice as strong as before._

"I'd like to simply talk with my son today." The older man said in such a quiet voice, Tazim was unsure if he'd caught every word.

Was his father truly whispering? The same warrior who Tazim idolized as a young boy and still was in awe of. Was Malik embarrassed of showing some true emotion apart from sarcasm and pride? He must've been.

Tazim held back a chuckle but unable to keep a smile from spreading across his lips. They each went back into the young man's room. Malik sat on the bed while Tazim went back to his desk and sat in his chair, facing his father.

Both felt comfort with the silence between them but Tazim soon felt an inescapable itch rise from his core. He had so many questions for his father. So much he needed to say. So much he wished to hear, the words which would sound only right once Malik spoke them. Tazim hoped, he prayed that he would be given enough valor to speak his mind.

He let out a soft breath, "I always thought I'd go on assignments with you," Tazim admitted, his head hung low as he spoke,"When I was a child I always fantasized of the day I would stand by your side and fight." 

Tazim held his father in such high regard. It was his father after all. Malik was a hero, a god even. As a boy, the young man craved for his father's presence.

All that had been cut short as Malik had been killed. Beheaded. Now was the time to change things, to admit his true feelings and show his father that he only wanted to make him proud. As a child, he always craved story after story of his father before him. His family. The reason of which his mother fled Masyaf. Tazim believed his father a prideful man, perhaps that same pride was the key.

Malik was alive now and Tazim feared that this would be the only time to fix things.

"You knew I was pulled from field work. I wouldn't have been able to fight alongside you," Malik told him truthfully. He sighed before looking his son over, the corners of his lips twitched upward, "You've grown into a fine man, Tazim."

The younger man felt the words pound into his soul. His father meant so much to him, as did his words. How he longed for his father, for Malik to simply _be there_. Tazim was still slightly in shock. His father was in front of him, they were having a conversation as adults. It was surreal. Was his father truly alive or just a ghost, a fragment of his own imagination. Was his mind playing tricks on him as it did when he was a boy, wishing for his father to return? Illusion, hallucination, dream or nightmare Tazim cared very little at that point. 

"I can't believe you're here." He breathed out.

Tazim looked up timidly, his brows knitted together and gave his father a sad smile. Malik returned the gesture, unsure of what to do other than comfort his son in such a small way. His eyes were calm and loving, fingers interlaced together as a sudden peace fell upon them. His eye's, Tazim could not get enough of, filled with knowledge and stregth, pain and love.

_Just like mother described._

The only time Malik would ever let himself become vulnerable was in front of his family. His son. He'd let his defense go down just for this boy. His boy. His Tazim. The same boy who laughed at the idea of failure. Who pushed himself beyond his limit to bring honor to his family, his father. To be deserving of his fathers name. To become an Assassin, strong like his father before.

"After fleeing Masyaf, mother always waited by the door at dusk. I never knew why at the time. I was only a boy." Tazim started to say.

He remembered well. Before the stories began. Before, when his mother feared to even utter his father's name. He was but a child but it was not something Tazim could forget. It took him courage to finally ask about his father. 

"I began to ask questions, wondered why you never came home."

The stories began. First in secret, as he went to sleep, his mother scared to speak of the Assassin's before the rule of Abbas. Slowly, the tales became full of anger. Tazim's mother told them fondly and proudly to her son, of what his father was like in life.

"I'd play in the dirt while she sat, looking up into Masyaf with worry in her eyes," he explained, his hands ran cold as he held them atop his lap, "She cried sometimes, in secret so I would not hear. She missed you."

"I have missed you, father."

That's when he broke, Tazim's voice cracked and he held back a sob. Holding his breath for a moment, light whimpers escaped his throat. He composed himself short moments at a time before the gasp of a cry escaped once again.

"I've spent every waking hour of each day in training, I just wanted to make you proud," his bottom lip quivered and his brows met together as his face held pain, " To make you proud so you would come back to me."

Malik gave his son a look with pure love. He always did and always would care for him. He loved his son, he only wished that all the pain Tazim felt hadn't been because of him. There was little he could have done apart from making sure his family was safe

Tazim's mother always said Malik was a prideful man. Tazim believed, he _sincerely_ believed, if only he did something, _anything_ worthy enough of his father's pride, Malik would surely return.

"I thought that maybe if I did something right, you would come back to us. To me and mother, but you never did," he said as he stifled a sob and brought his head down.

Malik came over and put a hand to his son's shoulder. It wasn't much but it would reassure him that his father was there. With a light squeeze, Malik faintly shook his head, closing his eyes. How could he ever bring such pain to his son. Malik made sure to not let a single tear escape, he would be strong for them both. He would be the strength Tazim needed.

"Can't you just be proud of me and come home?" he whispered between gasps, his face now buried in his hands.

Tazim was now choking on his own tears, he gasped for air as he tried holding back his sobs. Wiping away his tears did very little as they soon appeared once again to wet his cheeks.

" _I've needed you all my life_. You were never there. I just want you to come home,  _baba_." he managed to say through the tears.

Malik sighed, he helped his boy up. Tilting his head to wipe a stray tear from Tazim's cheek, Malik spoke softly, "I cannot come home. You know that." 

The older man held his sons chin up. Things happen, all you can do is adapt. Tazim had wiped his face as clean as he possibly could yet the hot sticky tears refused to stop completely. He pursed his lips, trying to even his breathing as his father's words attempted to calm him.

"Cruel things will happen for unknown reasons, Tazim." Malik said in the softest voice he could muster.

Seeing his son this way tore him, it hurt him deeply. Watching your loved ones be in pain is the worst kind of punishment.

"But why, why must this hurt so much? I just want you back." Tazim said as he wiped away the trail of tears left on his face. He felt so vulnerable, he did not want his father to witness him in such a weak state.

Malik shook his head, "There are many people who will put you down. Don't be one of them." he told his son.

Tazim couldn't hold it back for much longer, he pulled his father into a hug. Malik was caught by surprise but wrapped his own arm around the younger man.

"I am proud of you, my boy, and of all that you have accomplished."

Tazim felt himself engulfed by the familiar warmth of his childhood. The stories his mother would tell him under the safety of the night sky. Of the Assassin's, and how Malik had grown up in such an environment. How he yearned to spend time with Malik. Wished for him to appear, to follow him and try to be like him in any way possible. 

Malik would be proud to say that Tazim had grown up to be a fine man. One who would make any father proud. His Tazim. His son. The independent, the brave. He still had so much to live for.

A hard hit to his head brought him out of his dream as Tazim jerked awake. He'd fallen asleep with his head resting on his hand, gravity thought otherwise as his head slipped and hit the desk he was sitting by.

"Pleasant nap?" he heard a voice beside him.

As he rubbed his sore head, Tazim looked to the source of the voice and saw Altair who was sitting beside him, reading on his desk.

"I'm sorry." Tazim mumbled as he looked around the darkened room before his eyes fell on Altair once again.

The older man was reading through scrolls and writing on parchment.

"You mumble when you sleep." Altair said, his eyes never leaving the writing. "Your father would not approve. Although, he also mumbled in his sleep as a young man."

Tazim shook his head to wake up. His brows furrowed and the young man ran a hand through his hair in thought. Why the sudden talk of his father?

He dared to ask. "Why suddenly bring up my father, master?"

Altair chuckled as he kept writing on pieces of parchment and reading through his scrolls.

"Like I said, you mumble," he said smoothly, "He's proud of you. I know it. As am I." the older man said with a smile on his scarred lips.

And Tazim believed him. It was time to say goodbye to his father. Perhaps not a permanent goodbye as Malik would forever be with him but an _'Until we meet again'_.  He'd made him proud and that was that. He smiled and helped Altair up.

"It's late, time to rest." he told Altair.

They each held a strength within them and Altair couldn't help but think that Tazim was a clone of his old friend. A reincarnation of the man.

As Tazim walked, he now felt at home, here with his family. His father would always be with him, through thick and thin, and he would be proud.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this sooo long ago you have no idea. I cleaned it up a bit and added small tidbits here and there so there you go a one shot with quite underrated characters in my opinion. If some grammar or writing is wrong well I didn't proof read because that's just the kind of life I lead, on the edge tragically. Also I was thinking of other one shot ideas extending this but idk yet. Have an awesome day nerdios.


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